Taste Me
by Blade of Justice
Summary: Love comes in many flavors and has many forms. Her love just happens to be of the kind that requires a few warning labels.


She was the only one who noticed.

He came into school late one day. He claimed he'd been in a minor accident. A new invention had failed a test run and this was the result.

It wasn't a big deal, he said.

Don't pay him any mind, he said.

She may have been a worthless, disgusting, slime filled piece of gutter trash, but as a nurse, she had a penchant for keeping track of details. A skilled nurse had to pay her patients the highest level of attention to know how to treat them, how to keep them calm, how to keep their eyes away from what drugs were going where. She was very good at that sort of thing.

For a rotten pig anyway.

Hadn't he remarked that he would be commuting from home for the next few months? Something about his family's business?

He was rushing home every day. From the way he had been tapping his foot, anticipating the moment the bell signalled school had let out, today would be no different.

She recognized the behavior. The way he was limping, holding his shoulder just so, it was an easy giveaway.

She knew better. She knew all too well what those were the signs of.

These wounds that had appeared on him, that continued to appear on him, had been inflicted by someone else.

Her nursing instincts were crying out.

Before he could dash away, the next time she noticed him about to take off, she boldly grabbed onto him. She pressed herself against him, tears spilling from her eyes, insisting that he let her look at him, that he let her treat him.

It was the only thing she was good for! Did he hate her for letting it go on this long?! He hated her for this, didn't he?! He didn't come to her sooner because of how much he hated her, no, he didn't even realize she existed, wasn't that it...?

Her wails brought attention to them, to what she was doing. She apologized more. How could she ever make it up to him? He must hate her, just like everyone else.

Only when she began to undress in the middle of the hallway did he start screaming. He made a face and yelled at her about how he would definitely accompany her to the nurse's office.

She was confused. She had only wanted to treat him. When had things taken a turn like this? What had she done wrong? What had she done? When had she done it?

He had screamed at her and yelled at her and tugged her into a secluded place where he could overpower her and have his way with her all he wanted.

That meant he liked her. Right?

They were alone then. She stammered at him. He stammered back. Where had his attitude gone? Did he want her to take the lead after all of that? She started to prepare herself for him.

He screamed again. He turned away.

She saw the bruise sparkling on the back of his neck and remembered.

That's right. This was the nurse's office. He didn't want anything from her. He just brought them where she had wanted to take him in the first place.

Now she understood. That was why he had yelled at her. She wouldn't want to look at her gross, gross, gross body either. She was sorry... She was so sorry so sorry she was so sorry...

She got to work.

He was nervous as she looked over him. He wasn't used to having girls touching him.

She apologized profusely for being so hideous. Her skin crawled at the thought of the situation. He shouldn't think of something as lowly as her as a girl, especially not while she was working. He insisted that wasn't it and tried to go. He insisted he couldn't not. He couldn't meet her gaze.

Naturally she wouldn't have any of it. Worthless as she was, she was still a nurse.

The more she looked at his body, the more she touched his injuries, the more she understood. The way he flinched. The way he looked away. She understood well. She understood more than he could imagine.

He didn't want her to see. He didn't want her to know.

Her heatbeat began to speed up more and more every time he flinched away. Her touches were gentle, professional. He flinched out of something inside, not because of any pain she was causing him. She knew that better than anyone else would.

He didn't want anyone to see this secret shame of his, yet she had ripped him open and was stroking it with the love and care of a mother touching her newborn.

She wanted to see. She wanted to feel.

She wanted to taste.

His shame seemed to be too much for even her. He began to struggle, claiming something about needing to be home, needing to go. She couldn't have that. As his nurse, she would not allow for this. When it came to healing, she was shockingly firm.

Between the two of them, it wasn't surprising that they managed to knock over some of the medical equipment before he left.

She made to apologize, to beg him to forgive her, to offer to stuff things down her clothes if it would make him consider at least letting her make sure he was better, even if he never ever forgave a hideous girl like her, but he beat her to the punch. He apologized even more than she was used to seeing from herself.

He told her he couldn't stay. He would take care of it tomorrow. He promised.

He promised he would come back to her.

Oh, but he was going to break the promise of course.

No one should keep promises to worthless digusting rotting out hollow smelly people like her. He had been kept after school because of her. He would get hurt again. Didn't he realize he shouldn't bother?

He should break his promise to her. She would come to school with slugs in her underwear to make him feel better once he did.

That was what she thought. That was what she insisted would happen.

That night, she dreamt of deep bruises and gentle caresses and shameful looks away.

For once they weren't hers.

He kept his promise the next day. He kept his promise twice. It ended up taking two days, two sessions of time after school, but he kept his promise. He could have done it all at once, but he wouldn't stay later than a certain time.

She had watched him quietly while he worked. Quivering, shivering, trembling, whispering, muttering, mumbling, stumbling... He had made her leave at one point. He had punished her. Did that mean he liked her? No, someone like him would never like someone lowly and worthless like her.

She didn't find out.

All she could manage to do was swallow the words that were caught in her throat as he left her alone on the second day.

The marks that had come after each day he had stayed late had not gone without her notice. Her eyes were too trained. She knew too well what to look for and where to look for it.

She wanted to beg for his forgiveness. Please. Please please please. She would do anything. She knew how those injuries had befallen him. They were her fault.

Why wasn't he angry at her? What had she done wrong? Why wasn't he blaming her? How muchdid he hate her that he wouldn't blame her for what was her fault?

Why wouldn't he forgive her?

She shouldn't ask that. She didn't deserve, didn't want his forgiveness. She wasn't worthy of it. She wasn't worthy of any further time with someone like him. She had been given a taste of something, the chance to touch and to stroke it, and she had squandered it like the gluttonous pig she was.

She wanted. She was a gluttonous pig. A disgusting pig that wanted more. She would roll around in her own filth and the filth of others and she would merrily eat whatever slop came her way if she were so inclined.

In this case, she was inclined to be close to him. She knew she couldn't be. She wouldn't taint him.

So she chose to make do by giving herself the same injuries as he had had. She did not simply stop with giving herself bandages over where his wounds were, as she had often done in the past. She knew more than enough about the human body, recreating injuries was a simple task for her.

She was... surprised with the results.

It felt good. It felt wonderful.

Her body trembled, shook, collapsed with emotion when she looked at herself in the mirror, when she touched her wounds.

They matched.

They matched they matched they matched they matched they matched they matched they matched they matched.

They matched.

She hoped he noticed. She wanted him to notice. She wanted so badly for him to notice, even more than she had wanted anyone to notice her for anything. That would be good... He wouldn't hate if then, would he?

Was this the feeling other girls got when they cut their hair? Was this the feeling other girls got when they wore new clothes?

She had never understood that. Maybe it was because she had only ever had her hair cut by the clumsy hands of her classmates when they weren't yanking it outright. Maybe it was because she had usually only ever worn new clothes when hers had been stolen or when she wasn't wearing any at all at the request of someone else.

It was unusual. This time, even if he never noticed, she didn't dislike this feeling. She had always wanted to be noticed.

Just being connected to him like this satisfied her in its own way.

After all, it was natural that that was the end of their having encounters. It was natural he didn't notice her daily wounds, her attempt at dressing up for him.

It was obivous. She was worthless, so rancid and hideous that he wouldn't seek her out again after fulfilling his promise even if he was being threatened.

She was so ugly, so gross, so dirty, that saying she was a fat smelly pig would just insult the poor piggies. At least they tasted good. At least they provided nutrition.

Did she taste good? Was she nutritious?

No. She probably tasted like medicine. Only a warped thing like her liked the tastes and smells of medicines. She was something that made a person gag, something to be washed down and taken in as little as possible.

A nurse would be nutritious at least, wouldn't she?

If she were, her taste made it irrelevant, didn't it? No one liked to take medicine when it tasted as bad as she must have. She was sure that toilets tasted better than her.

She would know.

At least she could find relief in that none of her classmates would ever know those tastes.

Briefly, she wondered if she wasn't particularly nutritious or healthy either. If she were both disgusting to the taste and unhealthy for the body, it made perfect sense to avoid consuming her.

Needless to say, a week went by without a word from him.

He didn't need her again. He was getting along. Nervous, never staying around more than necessary, but still keeping up appearances. His clothes helped a lot. She wished she could see underneath.

Had his bruises healed? Would he flinch if she touched them?

She wanted to touch him.

She wanted to see him flinch away from her.

She wanted to stroke him and watch him fill with shame.

These were the things only a nurse could see. The orgasmic joys that made her shudder under her own hand at the thought of them when she was alone.

On the eighth day after keeping his promise, it happened.

He came to school early that day. It was different than the first time. He sought her out specifically. He said he couldn't ask anyone else.

She had to fight desperately, oh so desperately, to hide her delight when she saw the bruises peeking out of his clothes, some just barely hidden by his vibrant hair. She could just picture how he would shiver when she would treat it.

She was sure he could hear the thumping of her heart over their footsteps as they made their way to the nurse's office. She was sure he could tell how warm she was, she must have been radiating it.

She finally understood as he pulled up his sleeves to grant her access to a bulging mass of injured flesh on his arm.

She was hooked.

Once she understood that, keeping him close to her was easy.

He already expected clumsiness. What difference did it make if she broke her equipment on purpose?

She would keep him after classes, then distract him from his work in ways only she could. His work prolonged, he had to put off finishing it for the next day, lest he get home any later.

It wouldn't matter. He was more than late enough to earn some new injuries.

The next day, she would pull him aside upon seeing him hurt once more.

He would boast. She would insist.

Ever full of pride, he couldn't- he wouldn't dare admit to her, this girl admonishing him with so much attention, that it was staying behind with her that had led to the injuries in the first place.

Just like he couldn't possibly admit to her that staying behind to get one day's worth of wounds licked was what led to the ones she found the next.

She was disgusting. She was filthy. She knew this. How could he stand to be in the same room as her?

That was the magic of it. She wasn't giving him the choice anymore.

She could never compare to the beautiful princess that had already stolen him from her.

It would be so easy to do something about that.

Wasn't she dirty? Wasn't she vile? She really was a pig.

She wanted to eat him. She wanted to taste every inch of him. She wanted to swallow him. She wanted to experience every flavor he had to offer her. Only she, the nurse, could enjoy these sides of him.

Everything about him was hers.

His blood. His sweat. His releases. His tears.

Especially his tears.

His shame. His guilt. His pain. His suffering. His despair.

Especially his despair.

All. Of. It. Belonged. To. Her.

She loved him. She loved him more than she had ever loved anything. She loved everything about him, every part of him, everything that came out of him, everything that was him. She wanted her to be part of him.

Her love for him overflowed from her. Her obscene form hid it from him. She would not ever blame him for being unable to see. She was unworthy of what she already received of his gaze as it were.

She made do with a wrench he left behind for a time.

Her adoration gushed from her like a dam had burst. She cried out for him and flooded herself with her love night after night, and soon it began to take up her mornings and then her lunch at school.

She didn't need to eat. She need only feast on him.

She began to consider the bruises marks on his body a manifestation of her love for him. They were what kept him close to her. The ones on her own body made her giddy. When she would once cry when wounds were touched, now she would cry out with something else altogether when these love marks were treated roughly.

She would gladly offer herself to his father if he could make more and more of them every day in her stead. She would have done so already if she knew that he would never approach her again if he found out. That possibility was something she just couldn't handle. She knew the time would come when she would need to anyway. But for now... she was content.

She contented herself with the bandages he left behind instead. His lingering scent was fast becoming a drug that surpassed the power of any medicine she had played with before.

Those bandages were especially important on the days things didn't go her way.

Once in a while he would not come to the nurse's office, despite her insistence that he needed to be treated.

It was usually because of the princess. He was strong and handsome and wanted to prove it to her. How could someone be so blind as to not see? He was radiant, and all the more every time she saw him, bring every new, shining injury along with him...

She didn't do anything about the princess. She could have. She could have done anything about the entire class if she wanted. All of them but him. It would be the two of them then. What a wonderful class it would be...

She left those thoughts to dreams instead.

Those dreams were her some of her favorites. They were second only to ones like those where she found him mangled and broken and ruined after he had been in horrible accidents... Terrible, terrible accidents. Accidents that left him crippled, accidents that forced her hand, accidents that left her with no choice but to amputate his limbs or to remove eyes or ears...

Those were the kinds of dreams that left her in a cold sweat, with an immediate, desperate need to indulge in her depravity so that she might bask in release.

Every once in a while, she considered making these dreams reality. Just as a fantasy, that was all.

A look at him made it clear she didn't need to. He didn't even flinch when he exposed himself to her anymore. She had lapped up all of the nectar that had come out of this fruit, chewed past its skin, and now it had offered its tasty insides to her: sweet, blissful, thoughtless submission.

All she needed to do was keep him after class just a little longer than usual the next time and it would keep growing sweeter and sweeter.

Taking barely a minute at a time, day by day, week by week, she had claimed another hour of his day without him even realizing she had done it. He no longer made to leave on his own. He waited for her to tell him. He had given up his control over this.

He had given it to her.

It was becoming so routine to him he wasn't able to process it.

Go to school. Stay after school at the nurse's office. Rush home in vain. Accept that man's punishment. Repeat.

He had been going home late so regularly now that he must have forgotten somewhere along the way that he had the option not to. His wounds had gotten to the point that he wouldn't be able to hide them during the day if he didn't see her every other day at the minimum. Sometimes it was every day.

The days he sought out the princess meant that he would be with her twice as long the next day. It meant that the day after that he would be twice as hurt, and need her twice as more still.

He needed her.

Oh, this was why she truly loved nursing.

No matter how disgusting she was, no matter how many obscene acts she comitted with his tools until the sun rose, no matter how much equipment she went out of her way to destroy and force him to repair, he was completely and utterly under her power now.

They were too far past the point of no return to go back.

Not that she particularly wanted to. She doubted he even remembered what it had been like before her. She had taken great care to wash that away.

She would happily spend her whole life taking care of him like this.

She had plenty of ways of making bruises without him realizing once that man was no longer able to continue providing these marks of love for her. If bruises started to stop cutting it, she could do better.

Her ugly, ugly self could do this much.

He was hers now, you see.

She was becoming all he could rely on.

Sooner or later... She would make him be hers forever. Just like in those wonderful, wonderful dreams.

Aaah...

It wouldn't be long before she would be able to ask him how she tasted.

She was so looking forward to making him savor it.


End file.
